


lugubrious reparations

by choleric_enthusiast



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Conciliatory, Other, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 08:49:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2686667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choleric_enthusiast/pseuds/choleric_enthusiast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first three times Nico di Angelo sins, he genuinely transgresses, and by the fourth and fifth only does he commiserate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lugubrious reparations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaikamahine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaikamahine/gifts).



Lady Macbeth: Out, damned spot! Out, I say! One: two: why, then ‘tis the time to do’t. Hell is murky! Fie, my lord, fie! What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to accompt? Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?  
-  
 **1\. Purporting grudges—**  
Before he was twelve years old, Nico di Angelo received his last Mythomagic figurine in exchange for his only sister’s life.  
He resented Percy Jackson for it, and Annabeth Chase as well, but the irrevocable pang he felt while blending in with the shadows was the remorse inculcated by the fact that he was to fend for himself from then on.  
And how incredibly selfish was _that_?

*

**2\. Summoning Midas—**  
Nico di Angelo consulted a king deceased for dragging millennia to hunt down Daedalus.  
For the sole reason of resurrecting Bianca.  
No, the attempts weren’t desultory, they were _chilling_ and draining, and as far as Hades was concerned, Nico could have stashed boxes of kiddie meals not for his consumption but for sacrificial purposes.  
None of his dad’s business, right?  
Or anyone else’s, for that matter.

*

**3\. Desperado’s convictions—**  
 _Take a dip in the Styx, Percy, and you’ll no longer be susceptible to mortal harm!_  
Gods, really, they’ve discussed this on cordial terms. Nico was going through a phase.  
(Moreover, his fidelity and repugnant devotion to Percy Jackson may have stemmed a second-hand ramification. Also, the fumes. Nico swears it was intoxication that led him to perceive such a preposterous idea. He mulled it over so often in proximity to the river that its fumes became alluring enough to diffuse with his only confidant.)

*

**4.**   
There’s no worse consternation other than the grievance in divulging your dead sister’s decision to be resuscitated into a different consciousness three more times for the ultimate afterlife on time opportune, when Death is incarcerated and in one swift movement could you whisk a not-so-older sister away, because temporary rest in the Underworld suspends age and temporality.  
So Nico saunters in Asphodel, his attenuated, translucent figure resembling souls that once lived in neutrality. He doesn’t remember the last time he didn’t seem so emaciated. Like, _thanks for making me run all those errands to prevent a behemoth demigod altercation, dad, geez,_ and then—  
He spots her. A dark girl still clinging to sentiment and images that don’t seem to dissipate overhead like vapour. He’s anxious to go, primarily because he could inadvertently chide her with Bianca instead of her real name. Instead of approaching with unkempt curiosity, Nico unsheathes his swords, jabbing the girl not with the weapon, but with interrogative queries.  
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he insinuates cautiously. “I’m Nico di Angelo. Are you…are you a daughter of Pluto?”  
Nico needs that kind of confirmation and reassurance post-debacle with his sister’s massacre.  
“Speak for yourself, please. I’m _dead_ ,” the girl ripostes in defiance. “And yes, I…”  
“Oh. What’s your name?”  
“Hazel Levesque. Could you, perhaps, conceal that sword of yours? Feels like it’s emitting an ominous aura.”  
“O-oh. Yeah,” Nico parrots, dumbfounded. “It was crafted out of Stygian Iron, you know.”  
He holds out his quaking hand, not caring for an astute elucidation of as to why would one and how to abscond the reins of the Underworld. Hazel’s omnipotence in the meadow of the Asphodel savannah makes him feel like he’s levitating off the ground rewardingly with her; the receptacle unable to contain them due to Thanathos’ default circumstantial inaccessibility.  
“You’re my sister too. You deserve another chance. Come with me.”—are the only words he can muster, because at that very moment, Nico isn’t debilitated by his perpetration of occult law that won’t ever go into obsolescence.

*  
 **5.**  
If there’s one thing Nico di Angelo doesn’t regret, it’s leaving Bryce to decay after lacerating Reyna out of futile opprobrium, only as a codicil to Octavian’s orders—  
It’s simple, really—based on Nico’s principle of protecting people who he cares for; besides, _if you had to sin to redeem yourself, wouldn’t you do it?_  
(Apart from that, he wasn’t going to lose another sister—although a surrogate—to some bellicose figure willing to attack anyone in their vicinity. Bianca died in Nico’s absence, sure, and he bore the onus for, what? Three years? But Reyna was _there_ , threatened while her dignified elbows supported her back from making contact with the soil, and in his fury, Nico summoned the earth to consume Bryce seamlessly—hell, he couldn’t even claw his way out to utter some pathetically melodramatic villainous phrase.)  
As far as Nico knows, Reyna still hasn’t recuperated from his reflexive tactic for defense, only because she hadn’t expected someone to avenge her in their own accord.  
Later, when the shock clears, Reyna shuffles closely to him. She offers to occupy the position for first watch so that Nico can rest. They both lean on the Athena Parthanos, Coach Hedge’s snores being the initial source of serenity. It’s a little bit too humid for comfort and the decorative bonfire is just _that_ —not mandatory, but present for display.   
“ _Nolite te bastardes carborundorum_ ,” Reyna muses, not alluding to the gods’ illegitimate children, because she’s not a crusader for erasure, and she would definitely never disregard or ostracize anyone else’s needs. “Don’t let the bastards get you down.”  
Reyna is selfless.  
She juxtaposes Bianca, Nico thinks before drifting off to sleep, then quickly dismisses the abominable comparison.

-

Two months in subsequence to the Giant war, Nico decides to dismantle himself from Camp Half-Blood to visit his friends in Berkeley.  
(But really, Nico doesn’t know how to navigate America for shit. So Camp Half-Blood’s located in Long Island, Manhattan. Okay, so where’s Berkeley?)  
“California, on the other side of the country,” Piper answers with a friendly gleam in her eyes. “Say, Nico, have you ever watched Legally Blonde the Musical?”  
Nico shakes his head no, with a hint of skepticism. He reconsiders it when he levels with Piper and her big doe eyes, and _doesn’t Nico have a vulnerable spot for girls?_  
Piper McLean snatches his hand from the Hades’ cabin’s doorknob. Her radiance penetrates the gust of wind that reverberates from the room. A signal in Nico’s brain lights up, informing him that _oh, so this is what Jason and Annabeth must feel like whenever Piper holds their hands._  
(He does, in response to the previous question, which is why he spends the afternoon crossing his arms at the very conception of the lyric _gay or European_ ; believe it or not, those two aren’t mutually exclusive, contrary to Elle’s, Vivian’s and just about everyone else’s speculations. Nico castigates at the television while Mikos pursues Carlos as Elle refutes the people who denied and claimed her theory to be absurd. Piper juts out her bottom lips, going, “That’s what they’ve been rambling about for the past minute, Nico—Mikos is gay _and_ European. Stop gesticulating, here comes the best part—”)  
(Although she postponed his trip to Camp Jupiter, Nico’s verdict is that he has a predilection for Piper McLean—one that secretly surpasses the one he has for Jason.)

-

The day after his musical marathon with Piper, Nico realizes he has no mode of transport to travel to Berkeley. Strangely enough, Will Solace comes to his aid with a grin resembling the Sun’s corona.  
“I can accompany you,” the very, very tall and furtively Southern boy coos; in the meanwhile, Nico reconsiders equipping himself with sunglasses so that he can converse with this boy without squinting, seriously. “I can ask Chiron for permission to borrow one of the pegasi since you’re—”  
“—prohibited from shadow-travelling, I get it. Most of our exchanges consist of you giving me pre-emptions, anyway. _Doctor’s orders_ , this and that.”  
Will exhibits a curl of the mouth pertaining to a wry smile. “So sardonic, as per usual.”  
“I can still go on Mrs. O’Leary, you know. _She_ can shadow-travel.”  
“Nope—you and I ride on one pegasus. You’re going to have to hold on to my waist if you don’t want to re-enact that lava pit incident—”  
Nico blanches, despite the inimitable pallor of his complexion. “ _One_ pegasus, though?”  
“I’m chaperoning, so I call shotgun. See you at the stables, yeah?”  
Nico’s physique undulates feebly, still awestruck.

-

Nico is ecstatic, but typically, something is wrong.

-

Upon arrival, Nico raises his hand as a signal. He feels a sense of security whenever he gestures for her—for _them_ —he has two corporeal sisters in verisimilitude now, and admittedly, it’s surreal, as if he has to recapitulate his thoughts every time they’re in range.  
Nico extenuates his temporary displacement of perception by hopping off the pegasus and waving to Will, murmuring an _I’ll see you later, yeah? This place is colossal._  
From a distance, a dynamic monolith eyes them distastefully. “At least try to be subtle, you two!” Terminus manoeuvres in unmitigated impudence, cackling.  
“At least we physically have arms—” is Will’s sullen, deadpan retort, while Nico scampers off to his periphery.

-

The minute Hazel spots Nico, she almost tackles him.  
They exchange anecdotes patiently in the dining hall. He’s gained weight, and his gestures are more energetic, and the tinge of olive brown is gradually seeping into his skin. Hazel mentions it to him, and he says: “Jejune observation, sister.”  
With an impeccable smile, nevertheless.  
“For someone who was fished out of fifth grade, your vocabulary sure perpetually blossoms.”  
“Yes, well, spending time with Persephone kind of enhances your knowledge in agriculture and linguistics? She used so many epithets for describing her shrubs, Hazel, I swear she knew, like, a hundred-and-seven shades for green. _Lettuce_ and _seaweed purple excluded_.”  
“ _Proserpina_ ,” Hazel enunciates elegantly, eyes glistening. “You Greeks are so uncivilized.”  
“—but I’m not kidding! If you ever plan on spending the winter in the Underworld, you’ll learn so much about botany, it’s actually ridiculous. How’s Frank?”  
From across the room, the Second Cohort kids assent on the consensus that _those Pluto kids are extensively intimate, aren’t they?_

-

So Nico spends a week over there.  
Eventually, he spars with Reyna. The dichotomy in their techniques relies on Nico’s impotence in functioning with another sword, just in case. Even if he knows that Reyna will deflect his every strike, he doesn’t risk using the one that operates like a Dementor. And eventually, he’s cornered like an insect stuck in a fly trap, the tip of Reyna’s sword scarcely shirking his throat.  
This scene isn’t foreign at all for him, because it bears too much semblance to what he did to a psychopath twice his size (namely Bryce), only now, Reyna’s expressive vapidity looms down on him. It’s not a reverse at all, since Nico still feels like however much he attempts to proliferate his efforts in compensating, the sin will still be adhesive.  
His sword drops to the concrete with a metallic _clank_ , and that’s when he pushes Reyna’s blade to the left.  
Tacitly, Nico brushes the non-existent dust off his shorts. In turn, Reyna seizes his shoulder the way a queen would conquer a nation: with faultless timing. Her demeanour mellows as she releases his shoulder, empathizing but not construing for an explanation.  
“Come on, I’ll show you the daguerreotypes of my ascendants.”  
Nico obliges.

-

 

“…that’s my great-aunt Alejandra, who had a proboscis—not genetic, I think she was accursed with voodoo for repressing a gypsy by accusing him and invalidating his experiences—is this too magical-realism for you to grasp? Nico?”  
Reyna sets the weathered, sepia image of her great-aunt on the table.  
“You don’t—you don’t know how much manslaughter and unnatural things I’ve done—they’re…they’re plethoric.” A shrug. Nico’s hands stay buried in the exhumed pockets of his trousers, like cadavers with no tombstones to engrave kindly epitaphs on.  
“They’ve all forgiven you. You’re not depreciated.” Reyna says it with all of her conviction—it’s squeezed in between the scrunched-up creases of her brows and her grimace, and it’s not a look suitable for her features—it’s a last resort plea from _Reyna Avila_ , for fuck’s sake, but he associates himself with self-loathing as one would with a major organ: indefatigably.   
“…have you?” he enquires ingenuously, and Reyna’s heart crumbles.  
“You had nothing to be sorry for in the first place, Nico. I think we…I think we have to forgive ourselves for the constraints we limited ourselves to when we were displaced to act accordingly for requisite missions.”  
Reyna doesn’t rescind.  
Their combined resolution, Nico re-evaluates, is to forgive themselves. She clasps his hands in hers. They lean on chairs—substituting for the Athena Parthanos.

-

 

And Nico anticipates Percy’s stint on amendment.  
Annabeth has to drag him on his feet, ego dredging every stain of even a hint of an apologetic panegyric and crushing it with inflated hubris, so when Annabeth vanquishes that with austerity; Percy’s a goner.  
Percy doesn’t kneel melodramatically—thank the gods—but it’s _not exactly palliated_ when he lays his hand on Nico’s shoulder and regards him gravely.  
(“And that’s how you use a litote,” Nico recollects Persephone giving him a seventh grade English lesson, and indeed, that is how you use a litote in a sentence.)  
He soars while conceding like that, _sorry for denigrating you, sorry about Bianca—_  
“I’d beat you up right now is Annabeth weren’t present,” Nico goes, eyes sparkling clandestinely with tears.  
Annabeth materializes in front of him. “But I was vying for you to,” and she’s the first one to lean in and cradle his head in her arms. Percy consolidates their meeting with his mother ASAP, _right, Nico, Sally and Paul miss you as much as they do with this relegated Homo Sapien, come home with us soon._  
Annabeth and Nico convene more often after that; like repentance, he’s one step closer to salvation each time they do.  
-

“I speculate that Reyna needs a trip to Puerto Rico,” Annabeth avers plainly, once, igniting the fire for a candle at Minerva’s altar.  
“How d’you know?”  
“We’re pragmatic, reverent girls. Do you suppose that we don’t open up to each other on bad days, Nico?”  
“I must be a pragmatic and revered girl, then.”  
“Good.”  
“She really deserves this vacation.”  
“I could tell. I’ve gotten it all arranged, anyway.”  
“What…about the, uh, monsters?”  
“Easy to steer and even easier to repel. Besides, you’re forgetting that Dr. Chase is a certified pilot.”  
Nico is gratified with her facets. “I…wow…you’ve really…”  
“So you’re tagging along?”  
Nico’s reply is an irrevocable contract. “Sure, Annabeth.”

-

It’s less difficult to acquiesce with people afterwards. On the best of days, Nico liberates himself with little treats like allowing Will to give him piggyback rides, or watching Hazel IMing Piper and, like, the congealing mass of admirers from the Aphrodite cabin.  
Three weeks after their homecoming, Nico dispels the residual reticence lingering in the back of his mind, like scraping frozen gum off the sole of a shoe. He contacts Reyna, reports about how he feels. They converse seamlessly.  
“Hey, Reyna, I think I’ve partially forgiven myself,” he pauses, then resumes: “Major accomplishment, actually.”  
“That’s good, Nico. You—you have no clue of how proud I am right now, di Angelo…”  
 _Yet I want the same for myself,_ is what’s not vocalized.   
“Are you prepared, though?”  
It’s not a quotidian occurrence to witness Reyna’s bemusement, but: “Huh?”  
Nico elaborates on Dr. Chase’s occupation.  
“You’re going to have to detain me and wrap a blindfold around my head once we’re in transit to Puerto Rico.”  
“Annabeth’s job, not mine.” His lips unfurl effortlessly, which serves as an oath to Reyna, really, she knows she can do it someday without being compelled to maintain the veneer of being pococurante—unafraid to expose happiness and legibility for happiness, purely because she deserves it.

**Author's Note:**

> i’m gonna collapse; however you interpret this pile of shit i wrote, it will be bad. so, beware. spooky af  
> (at least i’ve attained something u guys yaaassss)  
> also, coding is a pain so i just kinda used the emphasis html for every citation i had to italicize...lmao  
> DEDICATED TO ELIZABETH BECAUSE SHE IS THE GODDESS OF BOTANY AND FORMATIVE WORKS  
> holla @ me on tumblr (how do you hyperlink omg) anti-aggression.tumblr.com


End file.
